Webwriting

I'm 23 now, and just found out I'm not immortal as once I thought as a youngster. No, no life-threatening experiences here, and "immortal" may not be the right word (although there is a shred of plausibility to it). "Invulnerability" catches the essence of it better. No longer can I stay up late or wake up when I want to. There IS such a thing as a sleepless night. Problems don't go away anymore by ignoring them, and decisions have repercussions. And medicines, as a matter of fact, do make me dizzy, nauseous, or sleepy.

Why am I coming to these conclusions at this point? Not considering the relevancy of if my enlightening came too early or too soon or just in time, I now realize that my world, my space, my life is in no hands but my own. No one will decide for me, and I certainly cannot wait for things to come into their own, fall into place by divine or otherwise intervention. I have to do it.

Every year, throughout every imaginable media, the ever-prolonged processes of resolutions bombard us. I was always one to neither make nor keep such auto-promises (records, just like promises, are made to be broken), but I'll make an out-of-season exception. But really it's no resolution; it is a determination, and it's the following:

I don't want to go through life (MY life) being the prospect that never reached true (?) potential and thus not delivering its promise. I want to take everything the Good Lord has given me (which many a time I forget to thank Him for it) and maximize it, put it to work instead of to slumber in the wasteland that is laziness and complacency. I have to make it work for me. Make it open doors. And if I ever reach a door that I can't open, then I was never meant to open it, though try as I might.

"Nothing is coincidence", I was told once in a conference. I hold this to be true, things do happen for a purpose, although I do not believe in destiny. Nothing is predetermined save death and myopia. No path is beaten for you; you do this yourself. This is what I realize. This is what I must do. I'm only 23 years old.

Have you ever felt lonely? I mean, real lonely, when you've got a hundred thousand people around you, but there's no one? That's how I feel right now. I've never been a real "sociable" person to begin with; I'm not that outgoing. But once I find that person I can relate to, that someone made after my own heart... how can I put it? I'm the kind of person whom you would find it a pleasure to be in a foxhole with. I'm a very loyal person, faithful to the end, all heart always. See, that's kind of the problem. Many times I've given my heart and soul away, and many times they've been returned in pieces. Life has tried to teach me that you can't put your trust on anyone, ever. Ah, and what a lesson she's tried! The least I can tell you is that she's either a lousy teacher or I'm an obstinate student. I keep on being the same person, no matter what has happened or what will happen. I just don't know how to be different, nor I want to.

Life'll treat you rough, friends will betray you, trust will be breached, but you never ever can be any less than what your heart is. God knows I know. You have to give yourself always in whatever you do, be it work, sport, friendship, or love. As with everything else in life, you risk the chance of being disillusioned, disappointed, frustrated, or hurt. You won't always win; in fact, you'll probably lose more often. But believe me, I'll make the bet every time. The reward more than makes up for past experiences. If you're not willing to take it, you'll never win. Then where are you going?

Right now I'm going through a bit of a depression. Not clinical, however, but I feel terribly lonely. This Christmas thing has sucked a bit this year. There's someone I know who thinks that I take myself too seriously, and you know what? She's right! I do, in fact, think too little of myself at times (like right now). The proverbial "drowning in a glass of water" is not too proverbial with me. I miss her. She's one of the best friends I've ever had. Not many people in this world can say they really know me; she can. Thanks to her, I've learned much about myself. She's also taught me that there's more to me than I actually know, and has sort of inspired me to search and learn about who I am. But the most valuable thing I've learned from her (and probably neither she nor I can explain how) is that no matter what, I have to give myself completely, just like I mentioned above. No more, no less.

I always thought love could conquer all. All obstacles, all difficulties, all troubles. I was wrong. Love is indeed the most powerful force ever to be encountered. No one can resist its force, and even if you try to evade it one way or another it will catch up to you. How you respond to love actually has nothing to do with love and everything to do with yourself.

But love is not everything. Two people can love each other with a feeling stronger that any other, but they simply cannot be together. Why? Maybe they lack communication, or maybe their priorities are different. Or maybe one of them simply chooses not to love (or rather not to give in to love). Whatever the reason, Patty said it best when she sang that "sometimes love just ain't enough." As I sat there on that bench, empty place by my side, feeling the cold wind in my face, I thought that maybe that was the problem. What if because of love I was there alone? What if I was not the only one in love? There was no Jupiter, no Saturn, no cats. Not even those damn kids with the flowers. And no one else but me.

If there is anyone out there who actually takes the time to read this, please do not take my advice. I leave that up to me. Everything I write here is for my own intake. Once again, I have felt the consequences of my actions. I decided to give my heart and everything in it; I made the bet. Turns out this time -again- I lost out. Who knows, maybe next time I'll be less giving. Someone once told me that I am a kind and gentle person, but that I can also become cold and cruel. Maybe I just need to be a little cold and cruel with myself. Yeah, that's it! Nah... I'll never change. I'm sorry if I disappoint anyone or if I disappoint myself, but I have to be true to who I am.

Music. Ah, how I just love music! It can do so many things, have a million effects on you. It can change your mood, lighten your burden, make you jump up and down, kiss your worries goodbye. I personally use music as an escape, as a reason and the answer to my plight, or simply just to enjoy it. Sometimes I tend to "hide" behind the music. That is, if I listen to a song which tells of an identifying experience, I'll listen to that song over and over and over again. It's like using the composer and the interpreter to say what I can't say, to express that which I feel in a way no one else could. That song becomes embedded in my soul, it's the pillar which supports me, it's the strength I thought I didn't have anymore. This inspiration I find in all types of music, from mellow ballads to tropical rhythms, in every genre I listen to. Song is my counselor, my shoulder to cry on, my primal scream. Sometimes, when I feel down I might look for a song which can understand and state why I am down. Then I'll go with it's flow and sulk some more (us depressives LOVE to sulk - actually it's a love/hate kind of thing that I'll get into some other time). A few weeks ago I had sort of a CD addiction; I just had to buy every CD I could think of. It flattened my wallet, but soothed my soul. I guess then that a substantial part of my life I can define it through music. Orpheus said it calms all beasts. Who am I to contradict him?

Studies. It's back to university life for me. Just got this semester's first test score: 83%. Big deal, right? Actually, it is. I thought I was going to do better. I mean, 83% is not bad, but it did something to me. Part frustration, part relief. It gave me a thirst, a desire to do better, a non-conformism. I now want to get at least a 90%. Maybe it sounds a bit childish or "schoolish", but then again, should your motivation back in school versus now in college change? You look at it differently, but it's still the same. You want to do better, be the best (maybe even brag a little), move on to the next level. Which is what I've got in mind, curiously. I know I've got a very big road ahead of me; sometimes I feel it to be insurmountable. But ignoring it's length or the bumps ahead do nothing for me. I'll face it head on, travel the road completely, and beat it. As soon as I do that, there's another road waiting for me, just itching for a shot at me. You know what? It is I who am waiting for it, just waiting...

Smoking. I really don't know. I started smoking some months ago while I was going through the absolutely worst part of my life so far. It gave me a chance, rather an excuse, to go outside and think for a while. After that, I kind of kept on going, not really needing it but still smoking. If I'm out with a group of friends (one of those rare instances) I'll smoke an undetermined number of cigarettes, and maybe during an extra special occasion a nice cigar might better suit the purpose. I don't know, it's not a physical dependency. A psychological one, perhaps. Once again, those damn cigarettes give me an excuse to get away from work, they feed my impatience by killing that dreaded thing called time, and very, very rarely (I can remember only three times) they relieve my anxiousness; the latter of course is not the purpose. I don't know, while giving me some time alone I can think, get a grip on certain somethings. At times I become tired of it, not smoking for a few days because I grow sick of it. The few days go by, and once again I find myself at it again. Sometimes I enjoy it, sometimes I hate it. I don't know. I can leave it anytime I want, but I still don't know...

Leadership. I've never considered or thought of myself as a leader. Nevertheless, a lot of people look to me for leadership, for guidance you could call it, as if my words actually meant something to them. I don't mind this; on the contrary, I feel flattered every time something of the such happens. But at the same time, it makes me a bit uncomfortable. I've had leadership experience before, both at work and at sport. That doesn't change, however, what it makes me feel now. It's like the person that comes up to me wants to look inside me, maybe depend to some degree on me, and I really don't feel like opening up and letting that person (or most other persons, for that matter) inside. I'm kind of blowing it a bit out of its real proportion, but then again this is about me and not really about leadership...

Just got back last night from Colorado, and I can say only one thing: freedom, baby! Aside from all the fun and much needed relaxation I got, this trip served all its purposes. First, I got to spend a lot of time with my brother, who I've known for 24 years and hardly know. Second, I forgot about it. About all of it. This was the time I needed to just forget about everything. It's kind of odd and somewhat ironic that you have to go so far to see yourself a little better. When you've got that cold wind hugging you and making every bone chill, there's not a thing in this world that can get you down. You don't have a care.

I want to go back. A good friend told me that you can't escape your problems or worries by running off to Colorado. I told her that I wasn't running away from anything. From myself? No. I've nothing to run from. I don't run. Not anymore.

I am going back, but not for a visit, not on vacation. I've seen it, and it's what I want. It wasn't what I expected to find; it was thrice more. And no, I'm not talking about Colorado or Coors Light.

I believe firmly in the old adage that states that there is no such thing as luck. Well, there actually is no such thing as luck, good or bad. You make your own luck with work. Hard work reaps many fruits, while sloth reaps mediocrity. I've been at both ends of the straw, and it's no contest. I'm a hard-worker; I see something, I want it, I reach for it, I fail, I try again, I get it. It's as simple as that. Vini, vidi, vici. Just never give up, work hard for what you want. Not always will you see your successes right away; they're usually not very apparent at first. But keep on reaching for what you want, and you're right there. I can personally vouch for my prerogative; as I write I am learning to fly. Nothing happened to me, of course, until I got off up my ass and started working for what I want.

At this point in my life, I can safely say that I know what I want. I know how I got here (although I don't have a clue of how I actually survived) and where I'm going. I mixed myself with who I am and am working extra hard for what I want. What's in store for me is big. Not everything's here yet. There are still some things missing, some pieces of the puzzle remain unassembled. However, for the first time in my life I can see the road ahead, Lord be praised. Remember what I said at the beginning of this page? It is, after all, my life.

"It will be a hard life; one without reward, without remorse, without regret. A path will be placed before you; the choice is yours alone. Do what you think you cannot do. It will be a hard life, but you will find out who you are." - (Tone Poem, QGJ)

Remember some time ago when I said I felt lonely? I feel lonely again, but it's different this time around. This time there's people around me, though not quite a hundred thousand. I still pick and choose who comes near and who stays afar. It's kind of difficult for me to explain this concept, but I am a man who loves being alone. I not only love but also need to be with myself every so often, leave the world behind. But it's not the same as being lonely. And there's something quite important in that I feel this way: it means that I've paid my dues, that I owe no one. I believe it's time to leave this place, to move on to what I could not before. Overdue. It's time to once again open up and feel alive, feel free.

I have to thank two people for not allowing me to be with a long face all day when I wanted to, for understanding me when they knew not what I was going through. Hell, I even learned how to make braids and give great massages from Karla (talk about channeling your emotions)! And of course Jackie, the best friend I've ever had, the only one who knows everything without ever having to ask. I love you both.

It was a very nice evening. Could not have been any nicer. My former stepmother (my father's second wife) was as great as she was 15 years ago. My 17 year-old brother has grown into quite a tall and handsome young man. I met his siblings and nephews, all fine children. Stephanie behaved very well, as usual, considering she felt a bit weird among people who were her brothers' brothers but not her own brothers. The odd thing, however, was that everyone was missing someone who I didn't miss. Someone everyone's eyes were talking about but mouths dare not speak much. Yes, our father.

He left us all, long ago, traded us for a bitch who did not deserve her husband's children's love. No one forces no one to do anything, but influences can definitely be felt. She influenced (out of a reason only God, the Devil and herself know) a gap between their (not mine anymore) father and his kids, a gap that he did not even try to close. If he would have the courage, or rather the balls to decide to at least get to know his offspring a little better, maybe I would not write this. He didn't, as you probably guessed. You know what? She can keep him, and he can keep her, because they are exactly what they deserve.

Don't call me a rebel even though I am one. Don't think I write out of sadness or anger. No, I am over that. Don't tell me I have no heart because mine is as big as I want it to be. I did not write this because I miss him or I wish we would have been there or any other reason you might conclude. I have lived my life without him or his family and I haven't turned out half bad. I simply wanted to get it off my chest. That's all, no more and no less.

Super Bowl XXXIV was played last night. It's supposed to be the biggest night in sports worldwide, the game in which football's champion is crowned. Saint Louis Rams vs. Tennessee Titans. I was anxiously awaiting gametime and although the broadcast itself could last more than 4 hours, I was willing to see it in its entirety. The whole appeal that it brings to me are, aside from the game itself, the commercials, those spaces in between the real action on the field. They are the little big things of the Super Bowl.

The first half came and went, and I can only say one thing about it: BORING! Offensively, at least. Defensively, it was a clinic. In comes the much-heralded Half Time Show, a display of the world's diverse cultures, all mixed up into one great show. Now, the second half starts, and it is all ACTION! Steve McNair throws and throws and throws. Eddie George runs and runs and runs. They mix it up. They move downfield. They score! They score again! They tie the game!

Only a few minutes remaining in one of the most spectacular and exciting Super Bowl halves in recent history. The Rams with the ball. Kurt Warner snaps, stops, and pops. One play, one pass to Isaac Bruce, and they score a touchdown. Rams up by a score of 22 to 16. One last chance for the Titans. McNair with the ball, he moves Tennessee downfield and the rest of the world with him. Saint Louis just about shoot themselves in the foot with a myriad of penalties. Go McNair! Go McNair! Go!!! The Titans have the ball, 6 seconds left. The snap, the play action, the throw... good! Dyson catches, runs, but then... oh, no... the Rams hold him... just 2 yards shy of the end zone and a game-tying touchdown... stopped... just 2 yards short...

Quite a few months have passed since I last wrote here; much has happened in that time. My life changed completely, but for the first time in almost two years, it took a turn for the better. The woman I love, the light that shone at the end of a very far tunnel, has since made me the happiest man alive. After much effort, which included heartache and tears, we have finally arrived. And believe me, every single tear dropped has been rewarded thousand-fold. Every sad moment now has a thousand happy ones to compensate. This woman, I can now safely say, is the true love of my life, the one I searched for, the only one who I can love.

I knew the road was not going to be easy, that there were going to be many bumps in the road. In fact, I'm sure there will still be many more up ahead. However, if we were able to survive so much time apart and still feel the same way (or even stronger) about each other, there's not a problem we can't solve. Just you and me, girl!

Hindsight is 20/20, it is commonly said. Now I find it as practical as true. Looking back on everything that's happened, everything I said and did, everything I wrote, I know that thanks in great part to my perseverance and to having remained true (even in the darkest of times) to myself, I now have the greatest treasure in my hands. All has been worth it, and if I had to do it all over again, I would. For her, for me, for us.

Foresight, however, does not have the same accuracy as its brother. We don't know what's going to happen or when it's going to happen. Until we find a bump in the road, I say Carpe Diem! I also try to look towards the future, to what it might hold, and how we might shape it. Destiny has no control over us; we, rather, have control over it. What do I see in our future? I see a grand and prosperous tomorrow, with you by my side every step of the way. Yes, I am a dreamer. But a dreamer who nevertheless has his feet firmly placed on the ground below.

Melissa, you are the best thing that could ever happen to a wretch like me. I never make any promises, but to you I will; every moment that I live, as long as you're still with me, I will love you with all my heart. Thank you for loving me just as I love you.

My father and I have not seen each other in over 4 years. Not a word, not a picture, not even a coincidental encounter. At some point in my life I decided to stop making him a part of my life and continue with my life just as I had for 20 years prior: without needing him. All of a sudden I realized that everything I ever achieved I did it without him, so the rest of my life could go on with things being just as they were. It's not that I didn't love my father; for all his shortcomings, he's still my father and I've never denied that he is or that I love him dearly. I just learned to live almost like he never existed. Almost.

We spoke last week and again a few days ago. I felt many things when I called him, but most of all I felt a bit of happiness, more happiness than sadness or disappointment combined. He must have shared his happiness with me, I guess. We are going to see each other, at my request, because I have many things to tell him. What, you may ask? I have no idea, no clue whatsoever. You could say everyone deserves a second chance, or at least a shot at a second chance. Am I willing to give it to him? I don't know, either. I don't know what to expect, what he or I will gain from this or if I'll keep it going afterwards. To be totally honest, I'm very nervous because I don't know who I'm going to meet. What I am willing to be is open-minded, not too rude, not forgetful that's it's my father I'm talking to, and, if possible, I'll try not to point fingers at anybody. Last time we spoke, he told me that everything was going to be for the better. I hope the Lord grants him his wish.

Never on this Earth has a man loved a woman as much as I loved you. I treated you with respect and always gave you everything I had in my heart. Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I guess I felt I deserved a little more. It's not that you left; it's how you left. The last time we saw each other you told me not to forget how much you loved me. The next time we spoke, you didn't want to know anything about me. Why such a rough attitude? Why another wall? All I did was love you the only way I know how to do it. If you didn't like it or felt tired or uncomfortable with any aspect of our relationship, you should have just told me. I've been shaving for a good number of years now; I believe I can take it. I knew you were going to leave; you'd been telegramming it for weeks. I just would've liked the courtesy of you telling me and talking to me about it. All you had to do was sit down and talk to me, even if it hurt both of us, even if it meant we would never see each other again. That's all I wanted.

I never demanded anything from you other than you love only if you wanted to love me. You could have at least wished me a safe recovery from my surgery, no matter how simple a procedure it was. There are things that go even beyond feelings. I think I earned at least that much. Yet I felt like I meant nothing. It was as if every word that you ever told me about how important I was to you and how much you loved me were suddenly gone with the wind, weightless and unsubstantiated. A treasure thrown right back to the sea. Was it that easy for you to close the door? Was it that easy to pretend I never existed? Did I really mean that little to you? You told me you had never really loved until I came along. You know what? When you love someone, you do so even if it kills you. I should know; I've come back from the dead quite a few times.

Do I miss you? I don't know; I shouldn't. Do I hate you? No. Am I bitter? I've tried very hard to be. Way too hard. When you trust your heart, soul and body to someone (and you never let me tell you exactly how much I trusted you) and that someone unfulfills, it breaks your heart. I guess I am, then. But I've learned to take the card that life deals me. If you had been cruel to me, I would have understood; I just can't fathom indifferent. I know of exorcising demons, but... an angel?

I was planning my whole life around you, preparing and very willing to spend the rest of my life with you. I wasn't going anyplace where you would not be. I loved you with reckless abandon. Maybe I shouldn't have, maybe that was the problem. Now I'll never know. Ask yourself this: how will you remember me? And how will I remember you?

And whoever cast the spell, put an end to it. I never needed it. My heart was always in the same place.

She is the light of my eyes, the constant preoccupation of my mind, the smallest thing that can give me the biggest smile. She's 13 years old, just over 4'7", and recently graduated from 8th grade; she'll have you believe she's 21, 5'10", and graduating from college. She is everything I have hoped for myself, and then some. She is the sole heir of my intellectual will, one which I secede one part at a time. She is all of my dreams and expectations wrapped up in a little package. She is the love she puts into a kiss to my forehead every time I fall asleep watching TV. She's the uncontainable motor-mouth who will speak her mind as she sees fit. She's the little girl who made her brother proud walking down the prom aisle in his arm. She's the only person that can make me lose my temper ipso facto and the only one that can make me misty-eyed on a moment's notice. Beware young men, for I am not compassionate! There's no one in this world who can lift me quite the way she does. She's whom I love most in this world.

"Some people, in their zeal to construct a world where no external threat can penetrate, exaggeratedly increase their defenses against the exterior -- strange people, new places, different experiences -- and leave their interiors dismantled. It's from that point on that 'Bitterness' starts to cause irreversible damage.

"The target that 'Bitterness' aims at (or Vitriol, as Dr. Igor preferred) is will. The persons afflicted with this doom gradually lose their desire for everything and in a few years they fail to leave their world; they invest enormous reserves of energy constructing great walls so that reality will be what they want it to be.

"To prevent external attacks, they limit internal growth. They continue to go to work, watch television, complain about traffic, and have children, but all occurs automatically and without great interior emotion, because everything is under control.

"The great problem of poisoning by 'Bitterness' is that passions -- hate, love, desperation, enthusiasm, curiosity -- also cease to manifest themselves. After some time, the embittered remain without desire. No will to live nor to die. That's the problem."

It is said that originality is the ability to imitate oneself, that a writer speaks only to himself, and that what is written does less to show the writer's strengths and more to expose his fears.

I'm willing to do anything to calm the storm in my heart. Drop myself into the abyss and break my soul in two, untie the tempest and the hurricane of my throat, and desperately confess that I can't handle my ire even though I am not that evident in my attitude. It's not intelligence, it's not wisdom. This is my way of saying things. It's not that it's my job; it's my language. These are a few of my favorite things.

I want to let out my voice and say what I have to say. I want to yell out that I can heal my wounds of living but I keep tugging on old memories. Ghosts that marked some moments but now I don't know if they have a soul. But I know how to heal my wounds. I learned to walk on marbles.

Some people stay far away from the door if there's a chance of it opening up. They hear a voice in the hall outside and hope that it just passes by. Some people live with the fear of a touch and the anger of having been a fool. They will not listen to anyone so nobody tells them a lie. Some people find that it's easier to hate than to wait anymore. Some people run from a possible fight. Some people figure they can never win. Some people hope for a miracle cure; some people just accept the world as it is. But I'm not willing to lay down and die because I am an innocent man.

The place was nothing like they told me it would be like. There were no savages, no people tugging at me from every angle, and no beer but one. No one told me about the many motorcycles and the recycled cars, although I should have expected it. Sure, you see the kids on TV playing baseball with a ball and a makeshift bat at the beach, but do you ever actually get to see it? No one told me that a 3 hour motorcycle ride through a gigantic cane field would touch and inspire me so. You see, I fully expected to see houses not made of wood, but of termites holding hands. I saw those, yeah, but others were cracker cans held together with nails or screws or whatever would hold them together. What about the naked kids barefoot on hot stones and mud? Did you see how their eyes lighted up and their hands waved a joyful goodbye to the blessed motorcycle-riding people they didn't even know and whom they'll never see again? Who's blessed, I wonder.

And speaking of lighted eyes, just mention the names "Sammy" or "Pedro" and you'll see a whole bunch of eyes and souls glow in broad daylight, as if they were (and probably are) the only bright spots in this country. That crystal clear beach was nothing but the reflection of that kid's eyes. That damn beer tasted a whole lot better that day. No one told me that these 3 hours of my life in a cane field full of back-broken workers while the wind whistled in my face would inspire and touch me so much. Hell, and I thought I had it bad when the plane broke down and I had to go embark on a 2-hour adventure just to find myself stranded and sick on the silver port. In fact, I didn't even see any silver.

I told Osiris, the mighty Egyptian god (or in this case, the owner of the motorcycle renting center), that he had a beautiful country. He said "It's yours, you hear me? It's also yours." All I could say was "Thank you very much" and feel as blessed as the people who live here.

Life is just a lonely highway
I’m out here on the open road
I’m old enough to see behind me
But young enough to feel my soul
- Lenny Kravitz

My grandmother says that I’m the most extraordinary person in this world. I, of course, do not believe her one bit. Much obliged, I will tell you what I am…

I'm the kind of guy who looks forward to having something to look forward to; a daydreamer of sorts. I am a very grateful person. I feel happy for my own achievements but feel even happier and prouder for those of whom I love. I always strive to be a better gentleman. I am far better at communicating with others through the written word than with the spoken word; my tongue is powerful but my fingers even more so. I am very easily recognizable, which I think also makes me easily forgettable. I will act my age only when necessary; all other times I'm 25 years old. I am the type of person who will always have an effect on people, and they will either love me or hate me; I do not convey indifference.

I am not psychic. I don't read minds; I read people. I have the uncanny (perhaps psychic?) and sometimes unfortunate ability to sense the general feeling (happiness, sadness, tension, etc.) of a place or maybe even a person and make it my own, chameleon-like, with very little say in the matter.

I am a fair and sincere person who will speak the truth even if it costs me, but however bitter it may be it’s still the truth. I am not perfect in any sense; very far from being so. I have a tough time dealing with some particular problems. I know what’s right from what’s wrong even if wrong is sometimes right. I believe in common sense and use it frequently, but tend to forget that common sense is not necessarily human sense. I am a rebel who fears God but not any church.

I am Puerto Rican and very proud to be so. I was not born in Puerto Rico, but that is of no consequence. The blood that races through my veins was born here. The most beautiful flag in the world is my own. The most beautiful song in the world is "En mi Viejo San Juan." This is my land, this is my country, this is my home. I may live elsewhere someday, but I'll not be buried in soil that is not my own.

I believe my family comes before anything and that it is a sacred institution comprised mostly of people who do not share their bloodlines with me and that can exclude people who do. I am loyal to them to the very end, and I’ll trust them with my life, but I’ll turn my back on anyone who wrongs me or my family.

I believe in respect, especially for those who do not agree with your views. You earn respect by being respectful. This does not mean, however, that you should take someone’s shit out of respect’s sake. I believe in the right to express oneself freely, but also in the right to shut up and be quiet. I also believe that you have only one life to live, and even if there were many you should still live this life as if it were your only one. I believe not in destiny but in fate, and sometimes fate needs a hand. I believe in love surviving death until eternity. What you give is what you get returned; whatever you do in this life, you will pay in this life. God knows I’m paying.

I love music but I sing terribly. I’m very impatient and impulsive. I can be rash and bold at exactly the wrong time. Sometimes sanity takes vacation time on me. I am a failure, an underachiever. I love to drape myself in sterile conjectures. I let myself be guided way too much by the clock. I’ve broken a few hearts. My room is a mess and I never feel like straightening it. I don’t give money to panhandlers on streetlights. I usually am very grouchy in the morning. I’ll hardly ever say goodbye when leaving. You can usually find me swimming against the flow of the tide. I say jokes in the least funniest way possible. There are times in which I’ll piss people off just for kicks. Sometimes I'm pathetic. Other times (like right now), I’m just full of shit.

Sometimes I'm tired, sometimes I'm shot
Sometimes I don't know how much more I've got
Maybe I'm headed over the hill
Maybe I've set myself up for the kill
- William J. M. Joel

I'm always asking questions, always seeking answers, even if I damn well know that answer. I always have something to say but never have enough time to say it. I do not like to be asked a question and not know the answer, so I try to cultivate my mind universally. I scored significantly higher than my brother in the SATs and College Board, but he’s the one with the degree.

A famous man once said "my heart is like an open book for the whole world to read." I have a very big heart but with limited space. When I love, that someone takes all of it. I am not drawn towards pity, and few things will ever move me. Because of this, I’ve been described as cold and stubborn. Ironically, I’ve also been called sentimental and caring. Who’s to say? I will cry and not be ashamed to do so; it doesn’t make me any less of a man. I will also ask for help whenever I need it, but I’ll never NEVER ask for directions.

I do not seek for people to pity me. I am not manipulative. I do not blackmail. I do not crave total control. My name cannot be spoken in the same sentence as any other or thought about in the same thought with anyone else; I stand alone. I will never apologize if I feel I've had no fault, but I'll be the first to say I'm sorry if I know I am wrong. I need no one, though I've found life is much sweeter and bearable when you have someone to share it with. I fear not many things. My greatest fear is rejection. It holds me back. It makes me uncomfortable to trust and reach out. Heaven help the heart that lets me inside; heaven help the fool who walks through my door. I sometimes also fear that my life and my love have past me by and that the rest will never be what it once was.

Siamo noi, siamo noi
Che abbiamo ancora voglia di stupire noi
Siamo noi
Che la teniamo sempre acceso
Quest'ansia leggerissima che abbiamo poi
Di vivere la vita più che puoi
- A. Cogliati

I am always bearing some kind of feeling or sensation, even if I can’t recognize it. In fact, I feel weird when I'm not feeling something, ANYTHING; those moments in time in which I am not swayed by my reaction to the world (the sole exception being those damn gray Sundays, which are not as frequent as before but have never vanished). I can have a hold on these feelings, or I can have no control over them whatsoever. One thing I do not do, however, is run away from them.

Talk about cheap philosophy: it’s taken me 25 years to become who I am, and this is (partially) it. I wonder if time will add any more items to this list. Of course, if anyone has differs with my description, or has anything to add, please feel free to express yourself.

Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.
- Charles J. H. Dickens

Almost a month ago, my brother got married to a beautiful young lawyer. The wedding was perfect; not a single detail of it was wrong. Good ceremony, great reception, delicious food, and a nice foreign dancing partner. It's even the first time I've seen my grandmother dancing. Ah, and the wonderfully bubbly champagne! Everyone who had to be there was there: people from many parts of this beautiful Island and even from outside of it. In fact, it's only the second time that (almost) all of my brothers and sisters have been at the same place at the same time. Now, just as a fancy, guess who was not there.

Yes. Who else could it be? And why, might you ask, was he not there? He was sick, you see. No, wait... it was his daughter who was sick. Or was it his wife? We never really knew; there were too many versions. One too many, I might add, enough to make my brother cry at his wedding. Not of happiness or joy as could be expected, but of sadness, because of the ever-present absentee.

One of my best friends, who could never understand why I had such aversion towards my father and his family, told me that her father had always been tough on her and her sister and was not an easy man to deal with, but he would have never done something like this. "Now I understand you," she said. I mean, for God's sake, it is his son, the child who made him a father. How could he not be there, even if it was for 5 minutes? It's inexcusable, and even more so when he gives an excuse and his family makes up a different one. Conflicting versions can mean only one thing: they are all worthless.

Maybe if it had happened to me I would have shaken in it off. I've had worse things happen to me to which this situation cannot even begin to compare with. But it didn't. It happened to someone other than me, to my older brother whom I love deeply, which makes it worse than if it had happened to me. I angered when I realized what my brother's tears were about, and I became unforgiving because of it. At the reception, I had to stand in the place that a father usually takes to greet all invitees, and I felt honored to do so. But it wasn't my place to do so. With all likelihood, my father would not have done it and I would have had to anyway, but it didn't feel quite right.

I'm tired of it. I've spent too long -even with the 5-year pause- waiting for something that will never be. I grow sick of receiving my aunt's hypocrite kisses and seeing my (other) grandmother perfecting her tearful tactics as a sympathy junkie. I have no pity and no love for them. No one will ever quite understand why I feel the way I do. After all this, many are starting to. My brother is thinking about revenge; I advised him otherwise. It's a useless gesture. Worthless people are not worth dealing with. This ordeal is over. I won't have much time here left, so I won't waste another word on them.

Like I said, not a single detail was wrong. Everything was perfect. God bless the newest household of our family.

So... it's taken me this long to finally compose myself after a very long year 2000 and finally start to write again. It must have been a post-Y2K type thing. I guess it's really taken this long to compose all my thoughts and feelings after such a long and bumpy year. What's happened since?

I met this girl on whom I have come to almost completely depend on. Why? Because she's the one who approves the credit verifications I need to sell some damn phones! The thing is that I left her a little note, afraid she wouldn't call but more afraid that she would. And she did. She's a beautiful woman with big, penetrating eyes, a smile to go along with them, and a voice that melts (ear)wax. She speaks to me like if I already belong to her, which gives me this gigantic sense of belonging that I have so long searched for. She thinks the world of me and for the life of me I can't fathom why. She's wonderful! Without her knowledge, she's turned me from a person who lived day to day, not caring what happened before or what would have happened later, into someone who once again has something to look forward to. Then, I do ask, why am I so afraid of her?

I guess I'm afraid of throwing myself to the wind and risking that she not be there to catch me. Maybe it's that I don't know if I can trust her yet or if I can trust, period. Or maybe I'm afraid that she's not the one, that she'll eventually grow tired of me. I hope that I fear my impatience won't catch up to me. One thing I do know, though: my mind may not be so yet, but my heart is just about set with her. I'm scared shitless, but I'm not turning back.

In a way, I am refusing to believe that this girl is for real, that her intentions are true, that she actually sees right through me like she so boastfully claims she can. Why is this so? My guess is that I'm probably thinking that this will end up in the same place where all the others have ended up.

Well, who would have known? She feels just like me. And, best of all, she said yes...

Just when everything in my life is going right, this has to happen. My house is in shambles, and I cannot seem to be able to repair it. It's very foundation is weakening and our collective peace of mind is being threatened. And all of this because of a stranger, the influence of an alien. I do not know how much longer I can continue to be the military peacekeeper, how much longer I can continue to be the Atlas of my family. But alas, there is no cure for blindness, especially when it is of the heart.

I am at a crux: I can and will not allow this, but I cannot continue to strain my heart and soul over it. Damn this loyalty. I am grateful for who I am and the way I was brought up and I respect my family more than I respect myself, but I will not stand aside and let someone else tear it apart. If hearts are to be broken, I will break it. If there is to be sadness, I will make her cry. Suffer because me, not because of a stranger. But don't do this to us.

My love, I know that the chances are that you'll read this quite soon, so please allow me the honor of thanking you for all your support during these troubled times. Without you I would have lost my sanity and without your hand to smooth me over I would have moved to a cave somewhere. My heart is in your hands and with God's help it will always be. Please forgive me for the times in which I have not been myself, but thank you for understanding.

I'll be gone from this house in less than a year, in all likelihood. Will I last here until then?